X is for X and I’m Not Even Joking!

is for X. Wow, that took some thinking about. When I signed up for the A to Z Challenge, I was very aware that two letters, in particular, would prove testing. X and Z are not the easiest letters and I have spent the last couple of weeks half-heartedly wondering what on earth I could blog about. It was quite a horrifying moment yesterday when I suddenly realised that I was almost out of time. The letter X was upon me. What could I write about?

I scoured the online dictionaries, frantically seizing on words and checking their meanings. I found a brilliant site here, which gave me lots of ideas. It’s quite extraordinary the amount of words there are beginning with this letter. Did you know, for example, that xerosis is the abnormal dryness of body parts? Or that a xoanon is a primitive wooden statue overlaid with ivory and gold? Wouldn’t want one of those in my house, thank you very much (ivory!) but that’s another story…I discovered that a xylocarp is a hard and woody fruit, and that xebec is a small, three-masted pirate ship. Interesting. But could I really blog about any of these subjects? Not really, though I’m sure someone, somewhere, already has.

I did consider a post about xenogenesis. This refers to a generation of offspring entirely unlike the parent. Ah, now that I can relate to! I have often mentioned that I’m convinced I’ve been beamed into the wrong family. My children are quite unlike me. They don’t read! It’s true. I remember when my eldest son was little, I paid, what seemed to me at the time, a small fortune for the complete collection of Peter Rabbit books. They were beautifully illustrated and I absolutely loved them. I made the mistake of thinking he would love them too. One night, DH and I were watching television when we suddenly noticed it was snowing. This was quite odd, given that it was summer. It took a moment to realise that the “snow” was actually pieces of torn paper fluttering into the front garden from my son’s bedroom window, and a few minutes later I made the heartbreaking discovery that the paper was the Peter Rabbit books, which were now reduced to empty covers. I have tried to coax them into reading, to no avail. I was stunned recently to discover my youngest had read There Must Be An Angel in one day! I almost forgave her for insisting that films were better than books. Almost…I’m not, however, convinced that this is the sort of thing that scientists are referring to when they discuss xenogenesis, so I won’t blog about it, after all.

I could blog about a xanthippe, which is an ill-tempered woman. I know a few of those. But then, I have to face them, and I’m pretty sure they’d recognise themselves from my description and, quite frankly, they’re so ill-tempered I wouldn’t want to risk it.

Hmm, what else could I blog about? What about xenodocheionology? This, I kid you not, is the love of hotels. Yes, well, I possibly could blog about that, except I’ve never actually stayed in a hotel. No, not once. I have no idea what the term is for the love of luxury caravans with power showers, central heating and double glazing, but I doubt very much it begins with X.

I could discuss the election. That would be a real treat for you, wouldn’t it? I mean, you put the X in the box of your choice and help to shape the future of Britain, so it’s relevant. But, to be honest, whether you’re voting red, blue, yellow or sky blue pink with yellow dots on, it would still be an incredibly dull post and I’m already suffering from pre-election blues. The party of my choice will either win or it won’t. What else is there to say?

I could talk about the X-Files. I used to love that programme. Mulder and Scully and a whole lot of simmering passion – and aliens, of course. Can’t forget the aliens. Scully had nice hair and a big coat. Mulder talked without moving his mouth much. Okay, I’ve covered the X-Files.

What about the X Factor? Oh, God, no. I can’t even bring myself to try. I don’t watch it and have no interest in it, so let’s not even go there.

X marks the spot. I could talk about treasure maps. Or sex. Oh, that’s the G spot I’m thinking of there. Unless I mean X-rated. Should I talk about X-rated? Considering I blush and look guilty reading Jilly Cooper books I doubt I could manage to blog about such things. Although, to be fair, I do love a naughty novel. The sort of thing Jilly writes, or Fiona Walker, or Jo Carnegie. I think that’s as daring as I get. I couldn’t cope with erotica. Fifty Shades of Grey would turn me Fifty Shades of Scarlet.

Okay, what else is X? X stands for Xmas, which I always assumed was a very disrespectful way of saying Christmas, but which, I recently discovered, is actually quite all right, as X is the Greek letter chi which is the first letter of the Greek word for Christ – Christos. So that’s all right, then. They haven’t taken Christ out of Christmas after all.

People who couldn’t read or write used to sign their name by making their mark – an X. X is also how we denote kisses. We sign cards and texts and letters with xxx or x or xx, depending on the level of emotion we feel for the person. I’m never quite sure how many kisses you’re supposed to put. Sometimes I put the number of kisses that matches the person’s age if it’s their birthday. I drew the line at my mother’s birthday card. Once you get past sixty it just gets silly. Not to mention crowded.

Really, it’s terribly difficult to think what on earth to write about that begins with the letter X. I’ve racked my brains but I still can’t think of anything. Maybe I’ll just take today off instead…